Carnival
by Filigranka
Summary: Carnival - the time when roles are reversed, the world is turning upside-down and Rufus' manipulations don't work (the fic has nothing to do with feast and celebrations, though). Wirtten for Madisuzy. Contains some violence and, well, forced intimacy. No sex, however.


Beta-ed by wonderful and patient Thrasirshall.

Written for Madisuzy's prompt "Cloud loves the taste of betrayal."

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><p><strong>Carnival<strong>

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><p>When Rufus Shinra's supper in the cosy Mideelian restaurant was disturbed by gunshots' and the entry of a dozen armed men, his first thought was that somebody will pay for it.<p>

The Turks, for starters. No bonuses this year.

Elena tried to stand up, but the president's hand stopped her. The sole fact that the attack on Rufus' favourite local happened was a disaster for the Department of Administrative Research. Her death wouldn't change Tseng's failure. There was no way the lone women could win with the group of mercenaries, especially when some of them had this unmistakable shine in their eyes. She wouldn't even be a sufficient distraction, and the president despises time wasted

The barrels of ten rifles aimed at him. Rufus sighed dramatically, and theatrically wiped his mouth slowly.

He put aside the napkin, and said: "I'm sorry for the inconvenience" to the restaurants service. The tension almost visibly cracked in the air, and Rufus pulled out his gun, laid it on the floor and gestured for Elena to do the same; only then did he turn to the attackers, his lips quirked in a blasé smile.

"Why the fuss? A one well-aimed bullet kills as well as a thousand..."

"Shut the fuck up!" barked the leader of the assailants, high, hefty, a balding man in his forties. Mako burnt in his eyes.

The Shinra heir, coming to the conclusion that it'd be unwise (though highly enjoyable) to worsen the situation, obediently fell silent. The leader presented a long list of demands and threats, but the crucial one was clear – the president, whom they stubbornly called the traitorous son of a bitch, has to go with them.

Rufus, who made a show of flinching every time they swore, answered that men shouldn't, above all, use a foul language in the presence of women – oh, and by the way, he has no intention of answering to such an uncivilised invitation.

They're welcome to try and force him, but careful with your toys, gentlemen, since you seem to want me alive.

Not that he wasn't a little nervous, but showing emotions never helped in negotiations. Besides, if his life wasn't in immediate danger, if his cooperation was necessary for the attackers, then the situation wouldn't be fatal. He had been in worse trouble, and had survived. The improvised plan created itself in his head: negotiate for a while, buy some time, go with the attackers, and buy more time.

And finally, the Turks will find him. Or he'll escape on his own. It wouldn't be the first time. While there's life, there's hope, crossed his mind like a whisper, rather ironically.

Irony definitely made it easier to facing such moments with dignity. Rifles, threats, gunshots, humiliation, all of that would be calmly asserted, and laughed off.

Irony: better than hope, Rufus noticed absently, sounds like the company's slogan.

However, mercenaries didn't appreciate the difficult art of sarcasm.

"So, we'll just kill everybody else, starting from the waitresses." Announced the leader coldly. He wasn't bluffing, that much was clear.

The owner turned white. The girls cried hysterically. The president was still indifferent. His eyebrow rose as he opened his mouth to utter another accurate, acid comment—

"That was the stupidest blackmail attempt I've ever heard of. It's Shinra. You can press a hot iron to the face of a three-year-old girl, and he wouldn't do as much as bat an eye." A voice full of amusement came from the door.

"You have a horrible and completely false opinion about my personality, but considering the circumstances, I'm not going to sue you for that. Why are you here, Cloud?" asked Rufus, recoiling from the temporary weakness in his moment of bravado.

Indeed, the voice belonged to Strife, who just shrugged.

"None of you will believe me. By chance, I have a package to deliver nearby. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to interfere, but since I have an obvious advantage of force over both sides, why not? Let's mosey. Maybe I'll profit."

"An advantage of force?" repeated one of the assailants, not believing – the intruder was on his own, while there were a dozen of them.

The furious glare from the commander silenced him immediately.

"He has. I was in the company tower when AVALANCHE attacked. I... saw him. He does have an advantage."

Cloud eyed him intensively for a couple of seconds. Finally, he stated:

"I don't recognise you. But, after all, if I met you then, we wouldn't be talking now. Yeeeaah, the war, charming lady." he hissed through clenched teeth. "By the way, no killing the staff, right? I can't stand killing innocents – yes, Rufus, I remember the reactor bombing, don't waste your breath. So, the staff is out of the deal, but the rest – whoever pays better. So, how much do you propose, gentlemen?"

Shinra's blood curdled in his veins.

"You are kidding me." he choked, voice almost stuck in his throat.

Strife's eyes were as cold as steel.

"I'm kidding." He repeated slowly, faking consideration, "Well, it's your choice, you may propose nothing, if you're so sure. But let me remind you that before joining AVALANCHE, I'd been muddling through as a mercenary. Quite a good one too. Mer-ce-na-ry," he syllabified, radiating an almost cruel joy, "Soldier of fortune and money. And it's not like there's no bad blood between us. Give me a reason to not help those gentlemen."

He smiled, just slightly ironically.

"Even if they mortgaged their families for the next seven generations, they wouldn't pay you more than I can!" Snarled Rufus, trying to stop the flood of panic in his mind.

If for some reason: the revenge, the whim, the Bahamut-knows-why, if Cloud decided to aid the attackers, the president could give up hoping. Nobody would find him, let alone rescue him.

"But your offer has to be always higher than ours." Noticed the assailants' commander soberly, "Even it it's just one Gil, it's still a profit. That's the main objective of the auction after all: to manipulate the value, to raise the price sky-high."

"I don't need to manipulate the value or price of my abilities; it's countless. I assure you." replied Strife, easily slipping into the old role.

During those few months between Zack's death and meeting Tifa, he hadn't been himself, true; but the knowledge and instincts learnt then hadn't disappeared, when he had re-integrated his identity (or rather: had gotten closer to an acceptable level of integrity). He had known the secrets of bargaining, posing and posturing – and now all of it was coming back. Fluidly, like a reflex, sliding into its place. It was quite a surprise for him, that return of the memories long forgotten.

So it's like fighting, the body always remembers, he thought absently, continuing his little advertisement, swept by the wave of words:

"In this case, that auction is the unique opportunity to buy my abilities with a huge discount. Everything for nothing, really. It's like getting the master of avant-garde art for a thousand bucks."

Shinra's fear grew stronger with every second. This Cloud didn't resemble that shy, somewhat broken man Rufus had known. Which meant their previous experiences, Rufus' knowledge and manipulations were good for nothing now. It was a most unnerving realisation. Rufus had to operate on the unknown territory without a map. Not only without a map – without certainty. This Cloud managed to... trick him, lead him up the garden path. For a president so desperately craving control, that perspective was terrifying.

While the situation was sailing into the water of "impossible to handle" - the alias of Rufus' most frightening nightmare, the mood of the mercenaries' leader brightened a little. The chance of getting out of the restaurant not only alive, but with the captive, suddenly appeared before him. He wasn't going to let it pass.

"Right, we're lucky." he said carefully, looking Strife straight in the eyes, "So, we plan to get the passwords to the company bank accounts from that son of a bahamut. Maybe we will simply split the money in half? One for us, one for you? This bastard would never give you even the quarter of his assets, we all know that. Besides," he added in the moment of a merchant's epiphany, "I've heard you live with that girl he almost executed? On TV, like in the circus – so, what you think about getting the records of his interrogation? You will watch it with her at evenings, you know, creating the mood, I heard— "

Cloud jumped to his throat, literally, in a mere second coming from the door to the centre of the room.

"I don't care," his hiss was low and furious "What rumours about Tifa's or my preferences you heard; they are not part of our conversation. Is that clear?"

The commander immediately started to apologise: oh, how he could, his fault, right, that was uncalled for, he didn't want to suggest anything, he has nothing to impute, of course, nothing-nothing, he misspoke, he is sorry, he had nothing wrong on his mind...

Shinra, who didn't have to depend on rumours – he has bugs and the Turks –suddenly felt a little nauseated. He had seen torture and he knew how painful it could be. And he knew that this damn hope, installed in all humans, this hope which always led people blind to their deaths, covering their eyes – this damn hope won't let him simply tell the captors the password; and his refusal will open the endless space of suffering for him.

"Slip of tongue. I understand." stated Strife, interrupting the stream of apologies and pulling the president out of his horrified musings, "Rufus, would you like to raise the offer?"

Shinra tried.

"You may even get three quarters of my money. Just say so." He announced calmly, nonchalantly even.

Cloud chuckled, "Such generosity, I'm flattered. Forgive my indiscretion, but how much money do you possess?"

The question faked innocence, so Rufus faked hesitation.

"I'm not sure, I'll have to check the stock and the pricing of the estates and ..."

Strife's coat whirred, when the men turned around abruptly, facing the president.

"I don't need the exact amount of gil down" his smile was polite and sharp, glass-like, as he came near to Shinra with just two long, graceful steps, "An accurate sum in the billion will do."

Elena started to stand up, alarmed, but she stopped when Cloud's hand landed on her shoulder. The touch, however soft, was definitely a warning.

"Give up, please." Strife asked with genuine concern, "You are but a blind tool. I don't want to hurt you."

The girl looked deeply offended.

"If you think," she started, her lips and knuckles tightened so strongly they were white "that my honour allows me—"

"All right, as you wish," irritation filled Cloud's voice "I'll just knock you out. Are you done calculating, Rufus?"

"Sixty billion."

That was a lie, but Shinra hoped that the sheer... unimaginable number would let it pass. The mercenaries surely seemed to be too shocked to think. Strife on the other hand, unfortunately, not – he was as calm as ever, just a little amused.

"To the very end – you're just a liar."

His smile was widening with every second, full of sarcastic admiration.

And then he grabbed Rufus' hair and pulled his head back, twisting his fist. The most uncomfortable feeling, yet despite the fear hissing in his mind, the president managed to stay silent.

"One more chance? In the name of our old camaraderie?" The question was uttered through clenched teeth, but some new emotion glimpsed in Strife's eyes. There was hunger, raw savage hunger, and barely constrained violence. Something strangely similar to desire.

That sent a shiver down Rufus' spine. His reply, though, couldn't be immediate nor unnerved. The fist would be the sign of a lie, the second – of the weakness. So he waited a moment, ignoring the hand in his hair and Cloud's smile, full of ironic politeness (hunger, hunger, there was hunger in that smile too, hunger and – patience, but more like – crouching animal was that smile).

"Really... Eighty billion gil. Circa. Not more, I'm sure." Answered Shinra finally, choosing the voice very meticulously: resigned, yet still full of dignity.

The slap in the face was somehow expected. Another one too. Absently, the president noticed the blood on his lips; his mind was focused on the fact that he obviously made a mistake. Mistake of believing his presumptions and his arrogance, his silly faith that he could manipulate people, understand them completely, that at least this one art had been truly mastered by him... And now he will die, his anger screamed at him, he will die after he suffers, just because he was such a pompous—

"Rufus," upon noticing his fear Cloud's smile brightened and the man leaned closer, softening his voice, "Rufus, Rufus. I'd pity you, but I've wasted enough pity in my life. Don't you think it's pathetic to love the money and power more than your own life?"

Panic struck Shinra and he tried, very hopelessly, very desperately, to break away, hating himself for that childish move even before it was finished. Strife appeared to be deeply amused – and then he kissed Rufus.

The fist in Shinra's hair uncurled, but didn't let go. The president tried once more to turn his face, instinctively, but a hand held his chin, squeezing his jaw tightly, while Cloud's tongue slid into Rufus' mouth, followed by fingers, put between his teeth to make biting impossible. That hindered movements of the captor's tongue, but made the president feel even more humiliated and helpless, which seemed to be Strife's main objective. Fingernails scratched Shinra's gums, and at one point Cloud's teeth absently scrapped his wounded lips.

Elena stiffened and sucked in her breath, but she was intelligent enough to not protest further. Rufus was grateful for that – she would be dead in a second, and dead meant useless. His own appeared inevitable though; for the first time in his life the president was sure he would perish, that this time no miracle, no machinery or escape route would help him. Strife was, after all, the man with the monopoly on miracles—

Just as unexpectedly as he'd started the kiss, Cloud let him go and turned around, unsheathing his sword; Shinra very consciously did not close his eyes, kept them wide open—

The blade missed him and killed two of the assailants. Then Rufus caught a glimpse of it a few metres away, lighting, swift, striking like thunder. It took half a minute and – and there were no more mercenaries, just small rivers of blood – fountains, even. He had aimed for arteries.

Or maybe not fountains, maybe it's more like waterfalls, especially with the blood falling from the ceiling, mused Rufus – and then he realised he was definitely escaping from reality into an overly poetic, exaggerate narration. Purple prose, he snarled mentally.

In aforementioned reality, the bodies were almost dismembered.

It was somewhat funny that the waitresses didn't scream during all that bloodshed, that thirty-something seconds. Shock made them totally still and not before the last attacker fell onto the ground did they started to weep, cry and scream – their frightened high C almost shattering the glass.

The assailants died so quickly they didn't have time to feel surprise. Truth to be told, Rufus didn't either, and he was just sitting, thinking lazily, dimly how wonderful it would be to be one of the waitresses, to be able to yell hysterically, scream at the top of his lungs, like that blonde, or to sink to his knees and vomit, like that brunette; or maybe curl himself under the wall and rock rhythmically, tears on his cheeks, whimpers on the lips? – like that one redheaded. He would feel the salty streams on his skin and he would be – could be – fragile.

It's weakness, weakness is to be despised, he reminded himself, moving the muscles into the proper pose, putting up the adequate facial expression. His thoughts followed the movement, and after a few seconds they were concerned mostly about the compensation he should pay for the owner. At least twenty thousand Gil, he decided.

Strife impassionedly searched the corpses, taking documents, photos, money, everything that could identify them. He wiped his fingers meticulously before throwing that little stack of ghost's memories onto the Shinra's table.

"It's for your Turks to play with. I'm leaving. It was fun, but the packages won't deliver themselves."

He sounds, looks and acts completely normal. The role of vicious mercenary was thrown away with amusement and a kind of surprise – Cloud didn't think he remembered the past scenarios and schemes that well. And then, just look at this, they came to him and left him, just because he wanted them to come and go; without the dubious aid of any foreign factors. It was a nice feeling.

Although natural for Strife, that abrupt change deepened the president's irritation and uneasiness. He always considered chaos something degrading and the whole situation in itself had been humiliating enough to put him on edge. Almost, he corrected himself, almost humiliating, almost on edge; there was desperation in his grasp for control, but he didn't notice it.

"Would you mind telling me what was that... scene about?" He asked now, sounding nonchalant.

Cloud shot him a started glare. He expected Rufus to see that subject as something too mundane for him, too downgrading – to let it , curiosity is stronger than your pride, he thought sarcastically, kudos, sir.

But the time of being vicious had gone, so Strife answered in a light, careless voice, shrugging his arms:

"I just wanted to check how you look… taste you when you're afraid." His hand caressed the president's cheek. The touch was gentler this time, tender even, but Rufus flinched. Cloud just smiled, adding: "Yes, exactly like that."

Shinra's throat constricted, his pulse quick and weak under his captor's fingers. He licked his lower lip in a futile, reflexive attempt to clean the blood from it, and Strife's eyes immediately softened. Concern crossed his features as he murmured: "Cure," brushing his thumb over Rufus' mouth.

Healing charms shouldn't be use on such petty things: it was rather a painful kind of magic, draining both the caster and the healed party, wild, imprecise magic, healing everything – which sometimes led to even bigger problems, brain scars, cancers or the destruction of vital organs. What Cloud was doing should be the most stupid, but —

But this time it was delicate and light, soothing even. Energy tingled only in Shinra's mouth and his cheek, curing the wounds gradually with every casual touch of Strife's fingers.

It was one of the most terrifying shows of power and control the president had seen in his life.

"I'm..." he paused, not sure what to say, "...thankful."

Cloud shrugged once more, turned on his heel and shouted as he was going to the door:

"My pleasure, really. Well, take care – 'till next time!"


End file.
